The D'argent Legacy
by STRQ
Summary: Something i will be posting on AO3. first two chapters here for interest gathering. if you wnt to continue reading this, updates will be there, not here
1. Shattered Glass

Intro: The Past

High Rock is, for all intents and purposes, a beautiful land. Warmer than its cousin Skyrim to the east, yet milder than its cousin Hammerfell to the south, it sits in a climate sweet spot, though often cloudy, the weather remains essentially dry, not receiving the sometimes sudden and drastic downpours of rain and snow of the Nordic Homeland. But more than just the climate, High Rock is a cultural hotspot, an area of Aedra and Magic spanning all the way back do the Dawn Era and the supposed creation of the Adamantine Tower. In its early days, the land was in control of a group of elves known as the Aldmeri, and the ancestors of the Nords, the Nedes, building small fortified cities along the coast to strike at the Aldmeri. However not all Nedes and Aldmeri exactly hated each other, and from this mixing of blood came arguably some of the most talented natural mortal magicians in all of Tamriel. First known only as Manmeri, they are now known as Bretons, skilled in magic unlike their Nedic ancestors, yet resistant to it as well, unlike their Aldmeri ancestors. Now we go forward in time, to the docks of Wayrest, where a ship sits in the Iliac Bay, a very particular family of Bretons on the boardwalk next to it, as seamen and other workers bustled around them...

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Chapter 1: Shattered Glass

The docks of Wayrest, like most of the rest of the great city, were loud and bustling. Though today it seemed even more so, as it was the 10th of Sun's Height, the Merchants Festival, and the docks were filed with ships of all sizes, from Hammerfall, from further south in High Rock, even a few ornate ships from the Summerset Isles, the Merchants Festival was a day that Men and Mer alike flocked to, for rare treasures at lower prices. But this particular section of the docks was nearly empty, thanks to a honor guard of Knights of the Rose, keeping the citizens away from the three Bretons on the dock, members of quite an affluent family,the D'Argent's. The mother, Reina, was a slim Breton, with fair hair and violet eyes, and the father Malik, Was darker skinned, showing a mixed ancestry of High Rock and Hammerfell, but still, his Breton side shone more brightly, and standing in front of them, their daughter, Riane. She was known widely throughout all of High Rock's magic and upper class communities as being touched by Magnus himself, as she has been born with blue hair, and some said she was destined to be one of the most powerful mages in High Rock history. The three talked for a few minutes, seemingly having a last minute discussion, before the 20 year old Heiress, climbed up the ramp of her ship, waving to her parents as the ship set off from the dock, turning to the mouth of the Iliac Bay. it was a while before either spoke.

"I know she is strong. But not even the greatest mages can control the mighty ocean" commented Malik.

"She'll be fine" reassured Reina. "There was nothing more the Mages Guild could teach her, we should be happy Arch-Mage Savos agreed to take her in for no tuition. Though I do wish she had taken the overland route…"

"And go through Orc territory? And then those savages in western Skyrim, what are they called, Forsworn?" said Malik, as they turned, heading back towards Castle Wayrest, the honor guard falling in around them "No, the sea is much safer. Sometimes she shows such powerful magic ability that we all forget...she is still a princess...there are many here who would use her to force our hand" as they left the docks, a shadowy figure slipped away from the dock, setting off through the stands and stalls, people hawking their wares, men women and elves alike moving from shop to shop, bags growing heavy and coin purses growing lighter. Eventually the figure slipped into an alley between two taverns, and at the end, disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke, reappearing in the hidden back room of one of the taverns, lit only by candles places around the edge of the room, leaving the center mostly dark.

"She left. Should we contact Harkon?"

"No...send some of our own...we still have ships scattered around various docks. Feed only at night and only animals. The Princess is too powerful, she is a threat to all of Wayrest, all of High Rock. there's something more than just the blessing of Magnus in her. Something far more ancient and powerful. Ambush her in the ghost sea, sink the ship, and dump her in Solstheim, and make sure you finish the job this time."

The shadow nodded, and vanished again, most of the candles in the room extinguishing, the room left in near darkness save for just a pair of glowing red eyes, and the hint of gleaming sharp enamel.

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It had been two weeks their daughter had left to go to the College of Winterhold. Malik had spent most of the time running Wayrest. But in most of his spare time he spent comforting Reina. She had always been one to worry in secret, though she hid it from all. It would not do for the kingdom of Stormhaven to see their royal family so distraught. Still, she kept trying to send ships after Riane with things she thought 'her little baby' might need, extra warm cloaks, health potions, magic scrolls, an entire squad of battle mages from the Mages Guild to be her protectors each time malik had to stop her, reminding her that their daughter already had their warmest cloak, had more than enough potions for the journey, and had, on several occasions, been the protector OF the Mages of the Guild. Still even Malik had to admit, that by the time three weeks had passed with no word from their daughter, even he was starting to worry. He knew Riane could get a little...distracted occasionally, but still, three weeks, for a week and a half journey? After 4 weeks, Malik was ready to personally go himself and retrace their route, he hd even packed everything he would need, even pulling his old Alik'r sword down from its spot above the fireplace, polishing and sharpening it. But then it was on the night before he was to set out, a dark knight, the two moons, Secunda and Masser, completely blocked by storm clouds. He had just finished putting together his travel pack, he was scheduled to leave the next morning, but then from outside came a crack of thunder, followed by a pounding on the front door. Soon after a man was brought to them, soaked, clothes tattered, body cut and bruised. It took Malik a moment to recognize this beaten man as the ship's captain of Riane's ship, a strong hardy man, quite a sailor and a frightening storm mage. Beside him, not a moment after he heard a frightened gas from his wife.

Malik knelt next to the man, putting a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder, a kings grip. "Tell me what happened"

For a moment no one spoke, the only sound being the falling of the rain, and the occasional thunder. Then the man lifted his head, saying nothing, but offering up a small wrapped package. As Malik took it, starting to unwrap it, the sailor's vois wavered out quietly. "We were in the Ghost Sea. we had just left the Dawnstar port, when the fogs set in….we couldn't see very far ahead...that is when they came...was unlike anything I'd ever seen before….the ferocity...was like our magic had no effect…"

Finally unwrapped, Malik looked down in his hands. A pendant, sparkling blue stone set in a delicate cage of gold. It was Riane's, a sigh of her status. The other thing was a dagger, made of dark metal, though chipped from battle and stained with blood, it was unmistakably Orichalcum. Which meant…

"Orc's...those….monsters...go. Leave. Find your family. You've done well to bring me this news." the sailor got up, staggering back out into the stormy night. For a long time neither Malik nor Reina spoke. The servants had stayed put, but as the storm faded outside, and the first hint of sunlight on the horizon, they all scattered. Malik, who until this moment had been still, staring only at the two items he held, now turned to his wife, placing the pendant in her hands, closing them around it. Before he turned to the map on the wall, and with a shout of rage he threw the dagger with pinpoint accuracy, sticking it right into the map over Orsinium,the force of the impact causing everything in the room to break heralding the dawn with the sound of shattering glass.


	2. Echoes in the Night

Chapter 2: Echoes in the Night

Wayrest, was quiet. The docks, empty. In the streets, only few walked, heads down, moving quickly, no stopping to talk. The few vendors that were in their stores say quietly behind their counters, idly watching their wares. Outside, the sun shone in a sky only partially clouded, birds circling overhead, even they remained silent. It was the 5th of Last Seed. Wayrest had been like this since the First, when all of Stormhaven had heard the cry. And then silence. Nervous faces had turned to Castle Wayrest, hoping for a reason, for an explanation. However the great doors remained closed, as did the ornate gates. No, the reason for the silencing came not from their leaders, but from a lone sailor, drinking hs troubles away at a tavern further down High Rock, in Daggerfall. By the second day of the silence, whispered rumors about a man seen leaving the property before the dawn had started, and by the third he had been found, having sailed around in a small boat to Daggerfall.

"The princess...the royal daughter...is dead…" the three that had found him traveled back to Wayrest in news spreading like silent wizards fire. Soon not just Wayrest, or Stormhaven, but all of High Rock had heard the news. Every man. Every woman. And everything...else.

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The underground caverns, far removed from the silence of the city above, echoed with laughs, voices talking excitedly. The gathering here had filled the chamber with their presences, lighting a massive central fitre, the shadows flickering ominously. At the head of the room, atop a throne of human bones, sat a lone, powerful nightwalker. His face lay in shadow, much like his name. He controlled the many vampires in Wayrest. He was ancient and powerful, his true name had been forgotten to the ages, and now he was known only as... Montalion. His special power, was teleportation, and he gifted it, along with the immortal blood, to all his lesser followers. They were his eyes, his ears, his shadows in Wayrest. Nothing happened without him knowing. In return, he decided who was and wasn't available for them to feed on. On the tables around the room were several men and women, captured weeks ago during the Merchants Festival. He had been saving these cattle for this very day, and now they lay, throats and bodies torn apart by the shadows throughout the room.

He himself had abstained from drinking the mortal blood. He found the thought of even touching mortal flesh unpleasant. Instead, he used his vast wealth to have special Potions of Blood imported to him. His friend, Lord Harkon, gave him special pricing on them, as they were two of the most powerful vampires in Tamriel. Standing, he walked down to the head of the tables, raising is chalice filled with blood potion, he gave a short speech.

"The God-touched is dead! Her ancient blood will pose no threat to us!"

The assemblage gave a roar of a cheer, raising clawed fists or goblets of blood, before returning to celebrating. Montalion sat back on his throne, a wry smile twisting his face. Such simple minded fools. So easily roused.

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It was the 6th day of silence, when the great castle doors were finally thrown nearest quickly spread the word, and soon a crowd had gathered around the gates. They only had to wait a short time before their king appeared before them, looking regal and terrifying in gleaming Adamantium armor. At his side, a curved Alik'r sword, and a pack on his back with tent and bedroll, and a staff, a soul gem set atop it, its function unknown. The crowd of Bretons parted as the gates swung open, parting to make room for their king as he walked out, a servant leading his war horse, a black stallion named Nearvin, behind him. Once in the street, he climbed onto his horse, turning to face his subjects.

"For too long, we have tolerated the Orcs who live to the north. For the most part due to their lack of interaction with our people. But they have made a mistake in attacking my daughter. MY family. Now they will pay for the countless lives that they have affected with their own, one for each life our beautiful girl could have saved." all the people in Wayrest had gathered in the streets by now, and as the King made his way to the north gate, the people reached out, pleading with him non-verbally not to go, but knowing full well he had to.

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"Hyaa! Hyaa!"

Malik spurred Nearvin on, urging the horse to go just a bit further. The next of the many unnamed Orcish villages, though he used the term loosely, was almost a day's easy ride from where he was currently, having ridden for a day and a half already. Nearavin was a war horse, so he was good for long endurance rides, and unflinching courage in combat. Still, the ride had been hard, with very few water breaks, and even the stallion was starting to tire. Makil was determined to reach the….heathens before morning rose. They had shown no courage in attacking in the anonymity of fog, and he would give these ones no advantage other than a single warning shot, before going and killing all their warriors. Same as the rest. They would never dare attack anyone ever again once he was through.

Finally, he could see it, there on the horizon. Crudely made wooden walls, surrounding poorly made huts. Hopping down from Nearvin, he told the horse to stay put, letting him rest by some sweetgrass and a small river, leaving his pack behind, but taking his sword and staff, holding the staff in his hand, he began running toward the village, making no effort to be stealthy. Once he was within range, the sentries clearly having spotted him, he channeled power into the staff, a ball of flame building at the top, stopping for just a moment, he pointed the staff at the walls, and with a sweeping motion, shot 6 fireballs out to the walls, the magic bolts flying through the air with a roar, exploding into flames on impact, the walls catching rather quickly and starting to burn. He had purposely aimed two of the six to hit near the sentries, who had been thrown back from the blasts, and even from here he could hear the pained screams of a person on fire. The staff had been a very special thing, one of the many marvelous magical inventions created by Riane, a staff of Wizards Fire Fireballs. Incredibly powerful, but requiring soul gems for each charge. Until he replaced the soul gem at the top, he would get no more use from it. Stowing it on his back, he drew his sword, charging the burning gates, kicking the open easily, and not even hesitating when he met an orc in fur armor, parrying his clumsy thrust, catching the orcish blade with his crossguard, twisting the weapon out of his hand before then slashing the blade across the beasts neck, then kicking him back as he pitifully gurgled, his lifeblood spilling from his neck despite his hands best efforts.

With a keen eye, he saw that other than the two still writhing lookouts, there were only two other warriors in the village, one was already running toward him, a steel battleaxe out, while the other pulled out a bow, taking aim. Neither wore full armor, and none better than low grade iron. Holding his sword sideways in a guard, he saw the bowman release his arrow, and easily sidestepped it, as the orc brought his axe down right where he had just been, Mali reacted without hesitation, stepping behind the axe wielding orc, slashing behind him, cutting across the orc's back, before charging the bow orc, who was frantically trying to fumble with the quiver and pull out an arrow, but before he could, Malik sliced clean though the bow with a slash to the right, following with a kick to the orc's knee, then shifting his grip on his sword, brought the curved blade into a left slash directly into the side of the orc's neck, severing it almost completely, a rush of blood running out and soaking the ground and the blade, a bit of splatter even splashing onto his armor. He turned to face the first orc again, who had staggered back to his feet, holding his axe in only one hand. It appeared he had severed some tendons, as the other arm hung uselessly.

Still the orc didn't let up, charging malik with another overhead strike that Malik again easily dodged, before easily drawing his sword across its legs, then up across his chest, before, the orc falling to his hands and knees, plunging his sword through his back. Going over and wiping the blood from his blade on an orcish banner, he looked around, seeing only a few non-warrior women orc and children cowering in their huts. Around him, the walls continued to burn, and he le them as a reminder of what would happen to any orc who dared attack Bretons again. He knew it would be fine to leave it, unlike regular fire, Wizards fire could not spread to anything not directly touching it, nor could it spread across the ground. On a nearby table he saw several soul gems, noting they were filled by their swirling interiors. He took them, needing them more than this tribe would. As he walked out through the charred gates, he passed the burnt remains of the lookouts, the smell was terrible. He felt no remorse. These creatures had taken from him the one thing he could never get back. Whistling, after only a few moments Neravin cam galloping into view once again mounting his horse, he turned to the northeast, where a day and a half away stood one of the few named orcish strongholds in High Rock, a blight on the land they called Vreddod Dekh. as he rode towards it, he pulled the soul gem from the top of the staff, stowing it in his pack, and fit a new one atop it.

"I will avenge you, Riane. I will make them pay for what they did" and he rode off towards the stronghold, the night filled with the echoes of pain from the trail of burnt orc villages, attacked in the night, the people slaughtered by the warrior of shining death.

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"An….interesting twist, my shadow, using the beasts to do the job."

Montalion spoke to the Shadow before him, the one he had sent to kill the God-touched. The shadow bowed even further to his lord, before replying. "They had attacked us on the way there, and I realized that with them as thralls, we could completely negate any suspicion to us or Lord Harkon if all believed it to be their fault. I aim only to please, Lord Montalion"

Montalion leaned back, thinking things over in his mind. With the king now gone, likely to meet his death at the hands of Orcs, the Queen in mourning, and with no Heir, soon Wayrest would likely be in chaos. The exact chaos that his shadows could capitalize on, feeding on helpless civilians, and even enthralling them. Within months he could even gather enough thralls to wipe out the Mages and Rose Knights, Taking the Queen as his own and claiming rule over Stormhaven. Yes… this would be nice. Queen Reina would make a beautiful wife, and with his immortal blood, she could stay that way forever.

"You may go, my shadow. You have done….quite well…" as the nightwalker scurried off, he brought his hands together, in a thoughtful manner, as a low, evil laugh slowly built up filling the room like an Icy wind, growing loud enough that even above, it Echoed through the night, filling the dreams of the sleeping Bretons with thoughts of darkness and malign influence.


End file.
